


Gravity Well

by misaffection



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-13
Updated: 2011-03-13
Packaged: 2017-10-16 22:14:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misaffection/pseuds/misaffection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She gives him name, rank and number. He gives her the end of a flogger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gravity Well

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** Anything you can do, I can do better  
>  **Kink:** New uses for technological devices  
>  **Warnings:** Bondage and flogging (safe, sane and consensual)

Gravity pins her to the web. Metal bites into her naked flesh and chills her. She shivers, but she’s only cold on the outside. Inwardly, she burns like the sun.

Ice hits her spine. Arching against the unrelenting snare, she cries out and clutches at the bars. The ice slides off, disappears into the gaping chasm beneath her. She gasps and shudders.

Behind her comes the steady tap of boots against the floor as he moves, makes his next choice of implement. Sam pants and trembles with anticipation mingled with more than a little fear: she is, after all, completely at his mercy.

It’s not something he’s that well known for.

Footsteps close on her. She’s not sure how, but he’s adapted the gravity wall so that he can get closer. Enough to touch her and his fingers leave gooseflesh in their wake. A soft moan escapes her throat.

“You will tell me what I want to know,” he says, voice flanged. She wonders vaguely if the host is enjoying himself as much as the symbiote. Probably. “If you tell me now, you will avoid further discomfort.”

Her cunt heats as the awareness of exactly how she’ll "avoid further discomfort" washes through her. It’s tempting – very, very tempting – but she needs to keep her head. She cannot break yet.

If only because his torture is of the most delicious sort.

“Never,” she breathes. “I won’t tell you anything.”

Baal gives a low chuckle that ripples down her back. “Oh, but you will, Samantha. I’m going to make you scream it.”

 _Oh, please_. “Bring it on.”

She yelps at the loud crack, shocked more by the noise than the switch of pain that flashes across one ass cheek. He gives her no time to recover, striking the other side before she’s inhaled a breath. Clenching her teeth, she keeps it to a grunt this time and for the two blows that follow, one to either cheek.

He laughs, soft and warm, then smooths a hand over her. She sags into his touch with a low moan.

“You challenged me, Samantha. It pains me to punish you.”

“Hurts you more than it does me?” She snorts at him. “You’re so full of crap. I know you’re getting off on this.”

“Perhaps.” Lips feather her back and she gasps, heat flooding her. “But then, I am not the only one.”

His fingers quest between her legs and easily find proof for his theory. She bites her bottom lip as he rubs at her clit, squeezes her eyes shut in an attempt to stop herself reacting.

“Kree,” she mutters, invoking the safe word that means he needs to ease off. “You’re going too fast. It’s too... comforting.”

“I can be considerably less so.”

His voice is human, worried. She smiles against the web. “I know.”

“I do _not_ wish to harm you.”

“Yes, well, maybe I want harming. Just- I trust you to stop if I ask. Trust me enough to ask if I need to.”

“Very well.” The flange is back as he says, “If that is how things must be.”

A slap of whatever he’s using cuts through the lazy haze and fires her desire back up. She moans loudly, to let him know this is _definitely_ preferred right now, and waggles her ass. Her reward is another stinging blow.

Pain ripples out, tinting to pleasure at the edges. Her ass feels hot and moisture runs down her thighs. Footsteps sound as he walks away and she immediately misses the awareness of him – the inner tingle that comes from the proximity of a naquadah-filled body ebbs the further he gets. She sighs her disappointment.

“So...” Baal’s voice is a low, echoed drawl. It’s sexy as hell and she bites her lip again to smother the responsive groan. “I find myself forced to repeat my original question. Why are you here?”

She’s forgotten the scenario, but it doesn’t matter – all she needs to do is deny everything so that he has to torture her further. Possibly right up to the orgasm she could really do with about now.

She gives him name, rank and number. He gives her the end of a flogger. It stings and set her entire body tingling. When he asks again, she replies with the same rote answer.

The ends of the flogger patter over her ribs, away from spine and kidneys – he’s being careful of how he lands the blows even though they’re not hard enough to bruise an apple. She was never afraid, but the certain knowledge that he won’t hurt her allows her to relax into the web.

He stops asking. Right, then left, the blows are timed with her breathing, so she’s expelling air on a gasp of pleasure-pain. Her knuckles go white as she clings to the metal, onto her sanity as her skin prickles.

Her stomach clenches but the orgasm remains just out of reach. Frustration breaks her resolve. “God.”

“Yes, my dear?” His voice rumbles with amusement. She jolts when a hand settles on her back: she’d not heard him move. “Will you tell me now?”

“I’ve forgotten,” she admits. Opening her eyes, she finds he’s stood on her right and she can see him. “Really, I have.”

“Perhaps I could... ah, persuade you to remember?” he suggests with a smirk and trails fingers down her spine. If he doesn’t do something about her burning need, Sam is fairly convinced that she’ll explode.

“Cal mah,” she whispers. “Please, I can’t. I n-need-”

Gravity shifts before she can finish. Her fall is halted by his strong arms and he holds her, tight and sure. She buries her face in his silken top, trembling like a leaf.

“S-sorry.”

“What for?” he asks, sounding bewildered and very human. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Sam hitches a shoulder. “I wanted to last longer.”

“You’ll do better next time.”

It’s so offhand that disbelief jerks her upright. She glares at him. “What, are you keeping scores?”

He grins. “I’m giving this eight out of ten and a must-try-harder.”

Fury sticks her tongue to the roof of her mouth. Baal’s smirk widens.

“Perhaps you need to study more,” he adds.

Giving a wordless yell, Sam tackles him to the floor and thumps his ribs. He grunts and grabs her wrist. She kicks him in the shin.

Her free hand falls on the flogger and her fingers tighten on it automatically. It’s not until Baal’s eyes go wide that she realises she’s sat up and is holding the damn thing aloft. Was about to hit him with it.

The chill of horror is overwhelmed by the heat of imagining him pinned to the gravity wall, naked and at her mercy. From the way his eyes darken, she’d not alone in that fantasy.

“You think that you could do better?” she challenges him.

“Without a doubt.”

Sam pushes up, flogger still tight in her hand as she gets to her feet. She stares down at him, uncertain but very aroused by the ideas that tumble through her head.

“Get up.” The order trembles and his eyes narrow, but he rises to his feet, all sinuous grace and studied calm. “Strip.”

She steals his leather coat when it comes off, needing that measure of authority. Her lips twitch into an amused smile as she watches his clothes come off – for all that he is obeying her there is no submission in his smooth, unhurried movements.

Her breathing quickens at the sight of his tanned, lean body: seeing him naked hasn’t gotten old yet. She doubts it ever will. Licking her lips, she motions at the web.

“Time to pay the piper,” she murmurs and steps closer, nudges him back with a poke to his chest. “Turn around.”

Baal obeys her, but she has a wicked thought and makes sure that when the web catches his body, a metal thread crosses his abdomen just above his semi-erect cock. With the purpose that when he hardens fully, the bar will press in and increase his discomfort.

Sam can be like that sometimes.

The flogger is perfectly balanced: wound leather stitched into a handle that grips long, suede thongs weighted by knots at the ends. She swings it to get a feel, to see how it behaves, and then lifts her gaze to his broad, bronzed back.

Excitement bubbles through her.

She keeps the first strokes light and high, just beneath his shoulder blades. Though she cannot hit him hard enough with the flogger to cause any damage, it’s best that she gets used to the “sweet spots” of upper back and buttocks.

Swish and flick. She draws a lazy figure of eight in the air, striking down on the in-swing. The knots patter over his skin at each pass – right side and then left. They raise a blush that makes her wet and she licks her lips. Steps closer and twists her wrist that little bit more.

Baal grunts as the knots bite. Sam grins; forcing him to break his silence makes her feel rather victorious. She takes another step and rests her hand on his back. His skin is hot, and damp with sweat.

“Not bad,” she allows. “But I’ve not really started yet. Do you think you can keep up?”

He snorts. “Bring it on.”

Laughing, she pats his ass. Mostly because he can’t do a damn thing to stop her.

“Challenge accepted.”

Across the bench are assorted implements, all designed to bring the victim torturous pleasure. Sam picks an ice cube out of the bowl and strolls back to the Goa’uld pinned to the trap of his own devising.

He hisses as she draws it down his spine. Smothering a giggle, she dips it between his buttocks and then back up. He shudders and lets out a low, flanged growl.

“Samantha.”

Lips curving into a smile, she presses closer. “Hmm?”

He doesn’t answer at first, just breathes in and out, rapid and harsh. When he speaks again, his voice is human once more.

“Nothing.”

A cursory glance downwards assures her that he is hard, his erection jammed against the bar as she’d planned. She slips an arm around him, stroking over his abdomen and muscled chest. Lingers on his taut nipple.

Toying with it, she murmurs into his ear. “Nothing?”

He tenses and she leans into him. The cube is melting in her other hand but it’s still cold enough to make him hiss again as she rubs it over his other nipple.

“Are you _sure_ about that?” she asks.

“Positive.”

His determination not to break doesn’t surprise her, though she quells a sigh of frustrated disappointment: she’s wet as anything and really wants to satisfy the burning need between her legs. Then again, his playing hard to get just gives her an excuse to increase the punishment.

“Pity,” she says and drops the ice cube. It falls horizontally, pulled by the gravity well. “It would be so much easier on you if you’d just submit to me.”

“To a female of the Tau’ri? I think not.”

Sam smirks. “Oh, I think so. You see, Baal, for all that you are more intelligent, superiority comes with one.” She turns away. “Fatal.” She reaches the bench. “Flaw.”

“Really?” he scoffs. “And what, pray tell, is that?”

Picking up the leather cane he’d chosen not to use on her, Sam strikes it experimentally across her palm, noting the sting and his involuntary flinch. She grins.

“A lack of imagination,” she finishes.

She knows it expects her to whip his back, or possibly his buttocks. Instead she sinks to one knee and stripes the sole of his left foot. He jerks with a shocked yell.

“Sam!”

“Be silent. You had your chance. Now all I want to hear is your cries of pain and moans of frustration.”

Being cruel doesn’t come naturally and she shocks herself. She’s no idea what Baal makes of those words or if he’s aware of how badly she’s shaking. But as nerve-wracked as she is, this is definitely turning her on.

She wonders what that makes her.

Deciding that dwelling is going to make her stop – and she’ll be damned if she backs down first – Sam rises to her feet, trailing the crop up the inside of his left leg. He mutters a low curse in Goa’uld and she smirks. Slaps the crop across his buttocks just hard enough to leave a pink line.

“I said be silent,” she reminds him. “Or do I need to gag you?”

He opens his mouth, but then catches himself. There’s an audible snap as he shuts it and then he shakes his head.

“Good boy.” She purrs the words, intending to annoy him. He’s wise to that, though, and doesn’t rise to the bait. Following the line with a finger, she says, “I left a mark. It rather suits you, I think. And I also think I should add more. Say... five? On each cheek?”

Baal breathes out hard, undoubtedly torn between speaking and obeying her order to stay quiet. Sam watches him during the long moment it takes for him to decide, and knows he’s surrendered in the relaxing of his muscles that comes a second before the brief nod.

She’d expected anything but the sudden rush of humble awe. Her eyes blur at the utter trust he has in her, aware it’s not something he gives away easily.

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

The moment hangs and Sam has to swallow twice before raising the crop again. Her hand is shaking and the first two strikes hit home softer than the flogger had. She stops, takes another deep breath, then tries again; this time leaving a nice, pink stripe parallel to the faded original.

It’s what she needs to see and doubts fly in the wave of heat that tingles through her. She reverses her hand and strikes his left buttock, balancing the sides. A second strike to the right makes him groan and she’s suddenly grinning again.

By the time there are ten stripes, the arousal is back and raging. She sidles closer and fondles his ass with her free hand, the other slipping between the bars, still gripping the crop. She flicks it idly, catching the head of his cock. His whole body jerks and he growls, low and flanged.

“You remember the safe words?” she asks, stroking his length with the tip of the crop. A gasp escapes him and he nods again, just once. “Oh, yes, you can say that.”

“I do,” he says. His lips twitch and he adds, “My Queen.”

Sam giggles before she can stop herself. “It’s more original than ‘Mistress’, I suppose.”

“More accurate,” Baal says.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“I’d noticed.”

Chuckling, she attempts to push herself back into the right mind-set. Since she rather likes having him helpless and at her disposal, it’s not as much as a stretch as she’d once thought.

“Be quiet, now. Unless you need to say a safe word, I want to hear nothing but your groans.”

He sighs, then his breath hitches as she wraps her free hand around his cock. He’s harder than she can remember him being and, when she peers over him to watch, redder in colour. It’s angry and straining, but it’s not enough.

Placing her hand on his stomach, she flicks the crop again. The sound of hard leather on flesh is delicious, and he jolts and groans. She does, too, because the sound of his arousal increases her own.

She strikes him three more times, then soothes his cock with a pass of her fingers. Curving them around, she pumps slowly, enjoying his low moan of frustration. Then she angles her body away from his and brings the crop down on his ass.

Baal opens his mouth. It works once but he manages to swallow whatever word it was down. Sam smirks at his tightly-closed eyes, the deep furrow of his forehead and the sweat that runs down his face. His back is as damp and it makes his golden body gleam in the light.

“You are beautiful,” she tells him. “The most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. But your ass definitely looks better for being striped.”

She adds more, feeling his cock twitch in her hand at each stroke. He has to be close now, and she helps him edge that little closer by sliding her hand over his cock.

“Cal mah.”

It takes her by surprise and she freezes. “What? Really?”

“Yes, Sam, I-” He breathes out a ragged breath. “I want to come inside you.”

“Ah, but do you get what you want right now? I’m your Queen, remember? You’ll come where and when I say you can.”

He stiffens. “I said cal mah. I meant it.”

“Did you? Are you _yielding_ , Baal?”

“I... am.”

Sam smiles and leans her forehead against his back. “Thank God for that. Any longer and I think I’d combust.”

Hurrying to the bench, she releases the field. She barely manages to turn before he grabs her, one hand threading into her hair. His kiss is hard and hungry, and she is happy to yield to it.

The crop clatters to the floor as he hitches her onto the bench.


End file.
